


babycakes

by storytellingape



Category: Girls (TV), Peter Rabbit (2018), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fairy Tale Elements, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Pregnancy, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 14:38:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/pseuds/storytellingape
Summary: Thomas just lies there and thinks of bloody England, the Queen, the whole British monarchy.





	babycakes

**Author's Note:**

> Last month someone on curiouscat asked me for my top 5 Mcsackler abo hcs. I wrote this last month as a response to that, and only thought about posting now at the encouragement of folks on twitter. It's silly, short, and follows the 5 times format of yore, lol.

 

 

i.

Pregnancy is the absolute worst but only because Thomas is spending his second trimester at the peak of summer. 

Windermere is no balmy retreat; the air is humid and the sunshine is lethal, burning Thomas’ paper-white skin to an unattractive flush that leaves patches in its wake. 

There’s always his dead uncle’s garden, the tending of which often took Thomas’ time though nowadays he has trouble lifting himself off his knees when he spends too long weeding the vegetable patch. When the weather cools enough to lounge outside in shorts and sip orange juice, he takes advantage of this by planting himself under the shade of the old apple tree and dozing off to breezy pop songs issued by a portable radio he’d found digging through the upstairs cabinets.

He blames Adam for what he’s been reduced to in the last few months: intermittent bed rest followed by a leave of absence from work. It’s his child after all, growing inside Thomas, andwhile Thomas loves children to an almost pathetic degree, they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place if Adam had simply kept his bloody knot in his bloody trousers. Neither of them is fit to become a parent, but well, here they are, repeating the mistakes of the past and turning into the people they never thought they would be. 

Thomas feels like an infirm, most days, with his stomach constantly brushing up against furniture and swollen so visibly that he can no longer hide it under layers of robes or coats or the occasional strategically placed scarf. Most of his clothing has succumbed to an early retirement after accidents involving several popped buttons and food stains that persist even after the second wash. He wears jumpers and track bottoms whether he’s in town running errands or simply spending a whole day lying on the sofa complaining about swollen ankles and The Great British Bake Off. He eats chocolate cake like a madman, big spatula-fuls of frosting covering half his face. He can sleep for hours at a time, exhausted from doing nothing at all. Sometimes, he masturbates.

Adam thinks it’s adorable, but he also uses Sprite as mouthwash so Thomas is careful to take his opinion with a grain of salt. He’s good for some things though, from time to time, like fetching Thomas a fresh pair of socks when his feet are cold or learning the words to Elton’s John’s _Honky Cat,_ which is Thomas’ favourite song, ever, the only one that manages to lull him to sleep whenever he’s hit by bouts of insomnia.

It’s not the best arrangement: they’re both unmarried, unbonded to each other though Adam has made a promise to stick around long after the child is born and maybe even after that. It’s not love, but one time after sex Thomas catches Adam staring wistfully at his jugular, thumbing the unmarked and unblemished skin with his thumb, his gaze warm with vestigial lust but also something else. 

And then Adam says, “Sell me this house. I’ll build a nursery for the kid and a study for you and if you want fucking skylights I’ll build you fucking skylights.”

“But you have no money,” Thomas points out. “And I don’t want any skylights.”

“Is that a yes,” Adam presses. “Because I’m only gonna ask once.”

Thomas sighs and touches the side of his neck idly. Adam’s credit score is probably terrible but he can always get a loan if he’s serious about buying the house. He can pay in installments, and a nursery sounds good as does Thomas’ own personal study furnished to his exact tastes. Green carpeting, a contemporary fireplace, Klimt reproductions on the walls. 

“Shall I call my lawyer now?” Thomas asks.

ii.

Twenty years of being trapped in a tower after being kidnapped by an evil sorcerer can do a number on you, but Thomas is not going to be hefted onto the back of a horse for the first alpha that happens to wander into his neck of the enchanted woods and break the spell by accident. The man is a prince, because they all are, his bulk hidden by the heavy weight of armor and chainmail it’s any surprise he can move at all. If he didn’t smell like meatloaf Thomas would swoon into his arms and offer up his virginity because it was about time someone did something about it. 

“A little gratitude would be nice,” the man says with an exasperated huff, watching Thomas struggle to keep himself upright on the horse’s back. 

Thomas ends up tumbling down on the mud, his ankle locked in the stirrup, his best tunic irreparably ruined. If he’d known he was going to be freed from the tower today of all days, he would have worn something else, perhaps something more breathable and less susceptible to tearing. 

“I slew a dragon for you, you know,” the man reminds him, helping Thomas to his feet.

“Good for you,” Thomas says, and brushes dirt off the rest of his clothing. 

The man introduces himself as Adam a day into their journey back to his kingdom. Thomas can hardly remember his own; he’d been taken away as a child, cursed to spend the rest of his days in that wretched tower until Adam had come along dragging his sword in the dirt in the least knightly way possible and that wasn’t even a metaphor. 

Thomas does remember a lot of green though, rolling hills and sweeping farmland, bottle-green banners fluttering in the air like sails, and a distressing amount of potatoes alongside dismal weather. 

On the third day of their journey, Thomas goes into heat. 

They spend the night in a cave where Thomas impales himself on a carrot with a smooth blunted end underneath the furs, fisting his cock with his free hand, trying his best to keep his dignity. Adam meditates meanwhile, catching fish in the river nearby — barehanded to stave off his lust, also missing a shirt though that fails to help their cause any. 

And then the next evening, Thomas finds himself on his back on the soft dirt, his tunic hitched up to his armpits, his breeches tossed hastily aside, his pale legs splayed open, his damp thighs bared to Adam’s hungry gaze. “You look absolutely ravenous, sir,” Thomas pants, squirming against the firm grip on his arse.

“And you like a beautiful little banquet,” Adam replies, before burying his face in Thomas’ slick. Thomas shrieks, and a flock of nesting bluebirds flit over their heads at the sound.

Adam takes him in one deep pounding thrust that has his knees kicking up heavenward, his back arching as he lets out a noise of pure unbridled pleasure. And he’s wet, so wet, the ache inside him only partially soothed by the delicious rub of Adam’s cock, thick as his fist. 

“I’ve never—” Thomas gasps, stretched so wide, feeling so full.

“I know,” Adam murmurs. “I’m going to—” 

They come together after a few more thrusts, Thomas with bits of dirt and grass under his fingernails, and Adam with his arse partially hanging out of his breeches. It’s a mess, but Thomas immediately wants to do it again, his skin tingling as if touched by magic. 

Adam grunts, his cock slopping out of Thomas with a slick noise, and then he points at Thomas. His eyes widen with a mixture of awe and shock as blue light dances across Thomas’ body in painless little sparks. 

Thomas attributes it to the mind-blowing orgasm but Adam scoffs once the light show fizzles with a pop and a hiss. “You’re a redhead?” he says, in disbelief.

Thomas clutches his head. Nothing seems to be amiss except now he has a strong craving for potato and potato-based dishes. “I don’t know,” he says mildly, surprised when his inflection changes to something harsher and deeper. “Am I?”

iii.

Thomas is a middle child, neither the most handsome nor the brightest of five children, so the last thing he’s expecting is to be married off to an American baron. 

The man is loathsome, handsome but not very well-read, and Thomas has heard stories of his misadventures throughout London, his insatiable carnal appetite. This becomes apparent on their wedding night when Adam slips into the bedroom while Thomas is preparing for bed, only halfway into his nightgown and he’s already being thrown across the covers,no regard for propriety at all, the expensive silk torn to pieces with one powerful tug of Adam’s hand. And then Thomas is completely nude, shivering in his bare skin, his nipples standing to attention, same as his cock. 

Adam places both hands under Thomas’ knees, spreading them apart shamelessly, tasting him where he’s wet and quivering, his tongue licking slick from Thomas’ hole down to his thighs. 

“Oh!” Thomas moans, throwing an arm over his face, body betraying him by curling against Adam’s hot mouth. “N-n-ot there Mr Sackler please!”

“I’m your husband now,” Adam reminds him, kissing him there once more, making him wetter, and then teasing a finger inside. “Just Adam will do.”

When he’s got three fingers buried in Thomas’ arse, Adam deems him ready, rolling Thomas onto his hands and knees so he could slot his cock into him just how Thomas needs it. He’s wider than three fingers and the stretch makes Thomas pant into the pillows. He whines pathetically when Adam begins to move, fucking him in slow steady pushes so Thomas could feel every hot inch of him, making his cock dribble thickly onto the sheets, still untouched.

It’s the most delicious burn. Adam smacks a hand down on Thomas’ arse, making the bed shake with each thrust. Thomas shakes his head though he doesn’t protest any of it, not the way Adam is filling him up with his cock, plucking at his sensitive nipples, or the way he’s fucking up into Thomas with all he’s got, hard enough to displace Thomas off the bed if it weren’t for the hand loosely clenched in his hair.

The rumours are true: the man is depraved and his appetite knows no end. He starts pounding Thomas into the mattress once he regains his breath, making Thomas pant and squirm and fist the sheets, begging to be allowed to come. He’s touched himself before in the dead of night but those awkward forays into self-gratification under the ever watchful eyes of the Lord pale in comparison to this. He’s in no hurry, with an eye to the door should it creak open and reveal his nursemaid, or worse yet, his mother. And Adam seems to know just where to touch him to make him squirm and pant, under the knee, the side of his neck, a kiss bestowed to each of his ankles, the tender skin of his wrists. 

“There you are,” Adam grunts, as he rubs up against Thomas’ sensitive gland over and over. Thomas knows this part of himself; he’s seen diagrams in books, and his nursemaid had explained its relevance using heavy pieces of fruit as an example. It makes Thomas mewl like a kitten, his toes curl into the sheets.He slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle his noises but Adam captures his wrists and pins them above his head, working his hips in a purposeful rhythm. 

“Won’t be long now, Thomas. Just let go.” 

Adam widens his stance, and Thomas just lies there and thinks of bloody England, the Queen, the whole British monarchy, as he wets Adam’s cock with his slick and starts to come, hard. 

Thomas is pregnant before the first month is over, and subjected to this nightly debauchery, sometimes even during the day depending on Adam’s whims. Even after he’s grown fat and pregnant, the treatment knows no reprieve and Adam pulls him into his lap anyway to ride his cock on long cold evenings. Thomas takes these nightly depravities with a stiff upper lip, as is the custom of the British, when faced with adversity and the mildest of inconveniences. 

The fact that Adam can make him come like an out of control geyser and ensures that he is tended to in the aftermath is neither here nor there. In fact, when Thomas is pregnant again in the succeeding spring, Thomas places the blame solely on Adam, and resolves never to let him in his bed again, a vow that is quickly broken a scant two weeks later when Adam gifts him with a horse and the deed to a little cottage in the country.

iv.

Thomas is a rabbit. He’s a country rabbit, once someone’s shiny new pet but discarded soon after his owner had grown bored of him. He remembers living in the city, brief flashes of concrete and flickering lights and plenty of foot traffic. All that is in the past now and he lives in the countryside with his four cousins and new friend Bea, foraging for food and sometimes sneaking into the adjacent garden when the season provides them with slim pickings.

He’s a very good runner, often able to dodge even the slipperiest of predators. But he isn’t so lucky always and one day he’s caught by a human male while trying to make off with an armful of carrots. In his defense, he happens to be pregnant, his reflexes slowed by the extra weight in his belly, courtesy of several brief encounters with an American rabbit named Phillip, just passing by.

Thomas flails as he’s picked up by the scruff, turned around so he’s facing the human with the big nose and dark hair. “Aw, look at you,” the human says with a quiet little laugh, before cradling him against a firm chest and rubbing Thomas’ belly with a finger. “Aren’t you just adorable in your little jacket and tie. What’s your name?”

v.

Thomas wakes up with a gasp, sitting up in bed as he reaches immediately for the desk lamp. 

“What?” Adam mumbles sleepily next to him, sitting up as well once the light blinkers on. The blankets slip down to his waist; he’s naked, just like Thomas.“What?” he repeats when Thomas continues to say nothing. 

When he finally comes to grips with himself, Thomas looks at Adam and huffs in disbelief. “You wouldn’t believe it but I had the strangest dream,” he says.

 

 

 


End file.
